


Center Stage

by Lidsworth



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Imagination required, M/M, Other, Psychological, mentions of depression, small fantasy, spiteful Takaba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takaba Akihito is an aspiring writer who must resort to taking pictures at posh clubs in order to sustain himself. Every day he works at Club Sion is another day in his own personal hell, that is, until the mysterious Asami Ryuichi suddenly decides to treat him with an inkling of kindness, but rebukes it days later. Now hurt, and extremely unstable, Takaba decides to do the unthinkable, even if it means dragging Asami and the rest of the Underworld down with him.<br/>One should never underestimate the power of a pen and paper, for they can burden the weight of the world upon their backs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Center Stage

**Author's Note:**

> When I use the term writer, I mean playwright. Basically, it's someone whose written plays. My sister's written plays before, I just act. I got this idea from the movies "Finding Never land" with Johnny Depp, and "The Titanic", so I hope you enjoy.  
> DIsclaimer: I do not own the VF.

Takaba Akihito is an aspiring playwright who's searching for inspiration, yet due to financial circumstances, he must resort to taking pictures at posh clubs in order to earn a pay check. Every day, he's overlooked by the wealthy, and considerd nothing but cheap scum.

 

Takaba is a playwright whose forced to take pictures at posh clubs in order to support himself. Asami Ryuichi is the very man who hired him.

 

 

The once dull, boring and very unattractive living room had become something of a train wreck in no more than an hour. Torn socks, dyed green hung low from the ceiling, attached to the rough paint with long strips of scotch tape and Elmer glue, the couches all turned over, blue cushions thrown in the center of the room, all in the same place. The lights were dimmed to an uncomfortable setting, the blinds were torn off of the windows, and instead replaced with moth eaten blankets that dyed the son's rays.

The bunch of blue cushions shuffled slightly, and as the seconds went by, they began to shake as if someone was struggling to get out—in fact some _was_ struggling to get out! His tiny legs kicked and thrashed as he swam upwards in the stream of cushions, fighting for dear life to get at least a taste of fresh air, just a taste.

But to his dismay, a hand grabbed onto his tiny ankle and pulled him down into the murky depths of the blue sea. Yet he continue, he swam like his life depended on it (and partly, it did). But unfortunately for the tiny boy, his strength could not compare to the that of aquatic creature that sought to see his watery demise. With one final moment left, his tiny hand shot out of the comfort of the pillows, and into the fresh air of the homemade jungle.

But it was too late, he was going to die at sea...

And than it happened. A grip stronger than that tugging at his ankle lifted him up from the sea and pulled him onto the couch that had become the shore. He breathed dramatically, waved his tiny arms in the air as if trying to grab at his savior.

“Captain Aki! Are you okay?” Shouted the concerned voice of an older woman, whose long curly hair fell onto his pale skin as she loomed over him, “I told you to be careful! There are merpeople in the sea! If we stay here-”

“I-I” He huffed like a dying man, “I thought I could take them, but they killed my entire crew!”

“Captain! If we stay here for much longer, they'll surface!” Cried the woman, who shook the small child with such a fury, one would actually believe that she was fearing the attack of the merpeople, “We need to get you-”  
The cushions exploded like an angry volcano, and from the ruins jumped young children who'd been painted with dark blue ink.

“Merpeople!” Both Akihito and his mother called in terror.

“Come captain, we must venture into the jungle! They'll have to return to the water soon or else they'll dry up!” Mrs. Takaba grabbed the boy's thin wrist before the merpeople could close in. Together, both the Captain and his mother, a native to the jungle, had jumped over overturned chairs and tables as if they were rocks, they climbed the stairs as if it were mount Everest, and ran down the hallway with caution. The floor had been spray painted a light blue, indicating that it had frozen over.

“I-it's c-cold up here!” Spoke Akihito, as he clung to his mothers tan leg, “M-maybe th-they'll abandon t-their search!”

“Shh!” she urgently placed a finger to her lips, and leaned onto the wall for support, “It'll take a while longer!”

The boy closed his mouth tightly and nodded. They walked silently, and with each step, his mothers straw skirt crunched on his head. They walked on thin ice, looking over their shoulder's, just to ensure they're safety.

_Thump...thump...thump..._

The couple stood silent, refusing to move, listening as the sounds of footsteps grew closer and closer.

“I thought you said they'd-”

Around the corner of the hallway peaked a small dark haired child, who like his kin, had colored his face blue. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, his fist balled and his posture stiffened considerably.

“I'VE SPOTTED THEM!”  
The Captain was yanked away by his mother in a heartbeat, as the footsteps behind them multiplied. At the end of the hallway was a rather large door carved with ornate marking and composed of a glass doorknob. It looked like something magical. It looked like an escape.

As if she read the young captain's mind, the woman's tan hand was already turning the knob, pushing the tiny form inside followed by her own. She closed it and locked it.

“I understand, but we would need to schedule a meeting first. We cannot simply make choices on our own, that can put the entire company-”  
Mr. Takaba pulled the phone away from his ear as he observed the two forms who'd somehow made their way into his private study. His tie was lose, his vest hanging open and his suit jacket discarded on the ground. He looked agitated, almost annoyed.

“I'll have to call you back,” groaned the man upon realization of the awkward duo leaning against his door.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, and huffed in utter disappointment.

“I've told you before _never_ to come into my study unless it's extremely important,” he hissed like an angry serpent, and began to pace around his den like a famished lion, “There are real life issues I have to deal with.”   
The small captain gulped, and clung onto his mother as the man's pacing grew faster, “You'll be the end of me, the two of you!”  
Mrs. Takaba looked away, “I'm sorry, we were just-” 

“Just what?” And now he was upon them, “Playing? You play too much, the both of you”-his hand was on the knob, twisting it with the stealth of a mantis, “And because of your _ignorance,_ you've thrown yourselves right into lair of the merpeople, and with me closing in on you” he opened the door just slightly, and a million tiny eyes stared into the crack, “And _them_ closing In behind you, I don't think you'll be able to survive!” 

The door was opened, and suddenly, eight merpeople stormed into the room and pounced on the doomed duo.

Mr. Takaba's deep laugh rang around his study as his wife, dressed as a tribal native, and his son, dressed as a captain were attacked by the rest of his children, who were painted in blue.

Truly has family had a wonderful imagination.

“You know,” spoke his redheaded father, as he knelt down “You can't expect to impress anyone if you're always being attacked by merpeople—and by the way, should you not be dried to a crisps by now?”

The merpoeple stopped attacking their prey immediately, and with overly dramatic gasps, all placed their hands over their hearts and died.

“Thanks dad,” said the captain rather sadly, “I'll do better next time.”

Mr. Takaba smiled, “You better, besides, no fairy princess would want to marry a kid who can't protect his own crew...”

 

“Photographer, have you even taken the picture yet? ” An older woman, dressed in an aqua clad robe that seemed to pour off of her like a raging stream, struck a pose before the extravagant Club Sion. Her dress had occupied him, and unfortunately, broken the dam which kept a stream of memories from flowing into his everyday work life. He looked rather idiotic with his too large shirt, and his faded clad pants. Blinking, he made to answer the woman's question honestly, because indeed, he hadn't taken the photo yet.

“I um...just pose like-”  
“Ugh, you aren't serious are you? For twelve minutes I’ve been standing here, what have you been doing all that time? Just staring?” Blabbed the dark haired woman, “Why my husband keeps you here, I haven't a clue.”

Akihito sighed, “I'm sorry Mrs. Asami, it's just that I haven't been feeling myself lately.”  
“Lately must be everyday,” came the bouncer who stood by the door. It was after hours, so there was no one in the line. Mrs. Asami loved to arrive fashionably late, so that all attention was on her when she walked inside.

“You spend to much time in la la land Takaba, now-”

“Never land,” he corrected, fast enough to capture a picture of the aged beauty.

“Delete that one, and excuse me?”

“I've been spending too much time in never land, not “la la” land,” he proudly said, “There's a difference.”  
There was a silence, and the bouncer was unsure of whether to laugh or remain in complete disbelief. His boss' wife wore a rather confused, _slightly_ concerned look on her face.

She sighed, “Takaba-san, just take the picture.”

“Yes ma'am,” he quickly responded, as to avoid another one of their many verbal confrontations.

“Good” She posed, the picture was taken, and she was admitted into the club.

Five minutes later found Akhito leaning against the building, looking at the photos on the small L.E.D screen.

“Akihito,” came the voice of the bouncer, Suoh.

The young man looked up in acknowledgment.

“Is it because you're always visiting Never land,” he heard it, the dabble of sarcasm dancing on his tongue, “That you still haven't grown up?”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

By two a.m, he was tired. The only words spoken to him throughout the entire night had been, “Hey, Photographer, come get a picture of us!” He was like a waiter of sorts, fumbling from table to table, snapping picture after picture. Women and men from all races migrated to Club Sion, it was the most extravagant in all of Tokyo so he was _always_ busy. If you could get in with a paid membership, then you defiantly someone. Evidently, there were a lot of “someones” at Sion.

Akihito was a no one. His membership was his old camera, and Mr. Asami's tendency to pity him. And it _was_ pity keeping him at Club Sion, because what else would it be?  
The pay check was ridiculously small, but it put food on his even smaller table. He didn't enjoy photographing overly rich, aristocratic idiots, so the enthusiasm was hardly there. And without enthusiasm, the quality in his pictures weren't as good as they could be.

He captured society at its worse, and he hated it, because he felt as if he was the only one who knew the cold truth.

That's why he enjoyed writing so much, it kept him distracted from society and immersed in his own surreality. He wrote nearly as much as he breathed, it was a necessity to him.

He wanted to bring his literature to life more than anything. Not on the big screen, no, to the stage.

In high school, he'd written a number of plays, but back then, the student body was asking for it them, they wanted them. Society wasn't though, not like it had in the past. And with little to no actual inspiration written in his little journal, Akihito feared he'd spend the rest of his life taking pictures in Mr. Asami's club.

And as if to rub that fact in, yet another table called for his assistance.

With cinder blocks for feet, the tired photographer trudged over to the table, lifting his camera as he was supposed to do.  
“Okay, on the count of three,” he said with a very tired, very uncaring tone, “one...two...three.”  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The club ran longer then expected, and by four thirty, Akihito found himself with stinging raw hands, after he spent an hour washing dishes. Now with his camera slung over his shoulder, and his small sack over the other, he began to take his leave from the Club.

Here and there, he could see janitors cleaning up what little was left over, he could smell the remains of smoke and alcohol fluttering in the air, and he could sense sleep just mere minutes away.

Opening the back door, he began to hop down the steps.

“My wife tells me that you're not performing your job properly.” Said the cool voice, which was carried by whips of smoke, “She wonders why I haven't fired you yet.”  
There was Asami Ryuichi, leaning against the wall, a cigarette firmly in between his fingers. He blew out another cloud of smoke as he looked at the tiny photographer below him.

Startled, Takaba looked down at his feet in an attempt to avoid Asami's gaze.

“Well, do you not wish to defend yourself against her accusations?” Continued the man.

Takaba sighed, and bade his gaze to capture that of the others, “I haven't been feeling myself, Asami-san. I'm sorry if It's been upsetting her”. He wasn't really, he wasn't sorry for anything.

Asami nodded and surveyed the younger man again, “Then I suggest you start feeling yourself. And next time you come in late, do so through the back door. Your clothing is an eyesore,” he spoke calmly, as he looked into the night sky. Takaba's heart constricted slightly, as he knew just how bad he looked in his worn out clothing.

 _Don't say anything, just nod and leave, don't-_ “Excuse me, Asami- _sama_ for not being as rich and wealthy as you. It must me nice having a closet as large as my shitty apartment, but if my _ungodly_ presence upsets you so much, I’ll leave you and your wife alone for good. I'll quit right here and right now. So bye!”  
He wasn't surprised that his eyes were burning to the rim with tears towards the end of his retort. He was certain that he'd just lost his job, and at the moment, he could only imagine the horrors of living on the street, or in the subway tunnels with the other homeless men and women.  
Asami grabbed his arm just as he turned away. 

“That won't be necessary” Said the older man, his voice quick an stern, “...And I apologize if I offended you.”

Takaba slowly turned back around, and looked at Asami, who bore the same expressionless look.

“Don't worry about it,” Takaba said with less ferocity in his voice, and with a small tug, he shrugged his arm out of Asami's grasp, “Happens all the time.”  
Asami looked at him, “Then allow me to buy you your clothing, that way-”  
“I'm not some homeless idiot! I can buy my own clothes,” He snarled, “I can buy a fucking suit, okay!? You could've just told me upfront that I looked like an idiot, so that I would have at least known why everyone laughed at me when they saw me!”  
The young man began to storm down the concrete steps, and onto the side walk. Asami was hot on his heels, “Then allow me to buy you a cab, it's dangerous walking around these streets at night.”  
“Ha! Now that's funny! I've been walking around these “dangerous” streets longer than you've been sucking on your silver spoon, Asami-san,” retorted the youth with a sardonic hiss, “Trust me, I’ll be fine! And if anything does happen, at least your wife and you will have a ball dancing on top of my coffin!”  
“Don't say that,” responded Asami with he low growl, “Don't ever say that.”  
Takaba looked over his shoulder, and stared at the older man.  
“Fuck off.” And with that, he continued his stride. Behind him, the footsteps remained silent, as Asami's figure blended in with the darkness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
( _Emily stands on the ledge of the last train car, and below her the train tracks move faster then deer running away from hungry wolves. The whistle howls into the air, the breaks on the train seize up as the conductors attempt to stop before the large metal mass plows into the air._

_Emily hesitates, her actions show it. She shakes with fear, her knees buckle and the force of the stopping train nearly causes her to lose her balance. She looks over her shoulder. The train will be in midair in seconds. Biting her lip, she jumps)._

Takaba closed the book as he finished the last part of Emily's long, tiresome story. He considered presenting it to the threat community, but funding for special effects, including a train at that, was nearly impossible, especially on his budget. They'd just turn him down again.  
He allowed his bedhead to fall onto the worn, leather surface of the journal. With his head this close to it, he pretended that the magic that once enchanted him many years ago would crawl from the pages, and seep into his mind. Dragons, and princesses ran through the pages. Elves and Kings dined with one another. Merpeople dragged sailors and Indians to sea...it was an adventure on the go.  
But people didn't want adventures anymore, did they?  
Lifting his head, a rather depressed Akihito opened the pages of the book, and half expected a blizzard to blow back at his hair, or silky, pale arms to reach out of the pages, wrap their clampy fingers around the sides of his head, and pull him into the story.  
Instead, he was met with pictures of his parents, both his father and mother. Long dead and long gone.

Again, the book was slammed closed.  
“Shh!” Hissed the others around him, who sat at the tables away from the shelves in the local library. Takaba flushed in embarrassment as he ducked his head down. Maybe it was time for him to give up his dream, maybe he needed to get serious with his photography or just look for some other job. Maybe...maybe he needed to find another source of inspiration. Looking around slowly, he lifted his head, and pealed his book open to a clean page. With his pen, he began to jot things down.

 _Mrs. Asami= Evil Witch_  
Mr. Asami= Rabbit Dragon or insane troll (has to love gold and be greedy)  
Scenario= The witch (Mrs. Asami) and the Dragon—no(dad is the dragon)--the dark Wizard controls a town of poor and innocent people...

In an hour, he'd written a lot more then he believed he would, and the play was starting to take the form of a very daunting children's tale.  
“Writing again? You know, I'd love to come and see one of your plays,” Came a tall blond beside him, holding a gracious amount of books in his hand.  
“Oh! Good morning professor D,” the others hissed as Akihito rose his voice as he greeted his old teacher, so quickly, the photographer lowered it, “Good morning. I haven't seen you in ages.”

“Been busy with classes,” Admitted the middle aged, blue eyed man. Golden curls bounced as he descended into the seat, and tilted glasses glazed over the shinning eyes. Dmitri smiled, and looked over at Akihito's notes.

“You've got a lot,” he complimented, “When will you start putting them together?”  
Takaba sighed, “When people get interested in fantasy again.”  
“Just give them time.”  
Dmitiri had always been an inspiration to him, and after his parents died, a role model. The man hailed from Russia, however, left his home at a young age, and used his education as a means to study in America. Soon after, he renounced his citizenship and began teaching in American, then England, then Brazil and wherever else his superiors saw him fit. He hadn't seen his family in years, not that it mattered. Takaba had jotted down some of Dmitri's life story within his book, though the scenario had change up slightly, and the Dmitri in Takaba's head was no longer his gentle teacher, but a thief traveling from country to country, stealing from the rich in order to secure a path for himself. Other times, Dmitri was an angel who appeared just at the right moment just to offer helpful advice. Sometimes he was an elf that was elegant and silent, though Takaba hardly utilized that scenario, as Dmitri was anything but elegant or silent. Then there were times when he was a peaceful King who offered advice to his kingdom, who mediated between good and evil, and who his subjects could rely on.  
Now that description, Akihito used a lot.  
“Well, when they've had enough time, I'll be sure to let you know,” Takaba responded. Dmitri smiled, and ran a hand through his beard, “Well then, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, Ryuisuke says hello.”  
“Tell him I said hi too,” spoke Akihito, as he remembered his other professor, who reminded him of a vampire “I'll run by the university if I have time.”  
Dmitri smiled and stood up, his books once again in his arms, “See you later.”  
Takaba smiled and waved, “See you.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
After he arrived home at about five earlier that morning, Akihito had slept until nine. The library had been just one of his daily activities, and now, he was out searching for another job. Now it was do or die, so any sort of job would suffice for Akihito. The problem was that no one was too keen on hiring a photographer, he couldn't even find a good cleaning job.

The thought of returning to Asami's workplace, and being treated like shit by his wife made Akihito's stomach turn. The little outburst that he had exchanged with Asami last night sat like a rock in his gut, and in all honesty, he didn't feel like facing the man again. Not to mention, he felt like an ass for treating him how he did. Even if he was being outright rude, at the end, he did want to buy Akihito his clothes. But Akihito could buy his own clothes!  
What kind of person did that bastard think he was? Some poor beggar? That's what Akihito couldn't stand, Asami and the rest of his entourage were so judgmental!

Akihito sighed as he straightened his polo and ruffled down his jeans. He was preparing to walk into a store, and hopefully they would offer him a job as a cashier or something.

Sure, it wouldn't pay as much as Asami's job, but he needed to get out of that atmosphere before it killed him. The money he was paid was always being distributed to his even poorer siblings. The second their parents were killed had been the second that their money had been taken away, and that all of their family was plunged into debt. Akihito still was unsure of how it happened, but was speculating that his father's business partner had a lot to do with it. Not that it mattered now. All that mattered was that he was sending some sort of money back into the circulation.

Sighing, he walked into the store.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
He held his head slightly higher than he had earlier that morning, as he'd been considered by at least two stores. The first one offered a possible cashier job, while the other was just cleaning. Though he wasn't too fond of cleaning, he didn't mind doing anything reasonable that acquired a sort of payment. Hopefully by the next week, they'd get back to him.

His shift at Club Sion started at five, it was now three o' clock. Maybe he could go rest, or take a “stroll” around the park. He'd maybe chance a talk with some of his old professors, many of them were helpful in stressful situations.

_Hmm...Rest first, university later?_ It sounded about right, Akihito's head felt full of lead anyway. He'd hardly gotten enough sleep earlier, a little more wouldn't hurt him. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
His water bill would suffer later, as he'd taken a thirty minute shower just to do it. There was really no point in it, besides, he'd have to shower before he went to Asami's place. It would be hours until then. Walking to his shabby, little living room, he collapsed atop of the couch and grabbed the remote that rested on the arm. It was an old remote, and the television was probably older. In fact, everything about his home was old. Small and cluttered, a room slightly larger than his closet, a restroom smaller than the closet, and a kitchen full of mismatched, ugly dishes made the interior of his home. Of course there were the ugly gray walls, that felt as of they were closing in on Akihito 24/7, that felt as if they were suffocating him and confining him to his crappy life. 

The walls were nearly as depressing as Takaba's own life, and sometimes he felt as if the small apartment accommodated his mood. He'd painted them bright once before, but it seemed as if the light had pealed off of the surface, and paved way for the darkness. He could sometimes hear it, the paint cracking off so slowly and painfully, and with each tear, a part of his soul left his body.

Then he wondered if it actually was the pealing paint he was hearing, as it was easy to mistake the sounds of despair for something tangible and physical. It was the only way to make sense of the pain suffered by a starving mind.

But now, as the television buzzed the only sound that bounced off of the walls was the silent humming of a channel full of static. His heavy eye lids struggled to stay open, but eventually, sleep was gluing them shut. Any moment, he would be drifting off into his own personal “Never land” and hopefully, some sort of useful inspiration would find him there.

A loud, piercing knock at his door jerked him out of his calm state, and he found himself wondering who would come to his door. His friends were all working, and his family was all out of town, working. So who the hell could it be.

When silence ensued after the initial knock, the loud pounding resumed.  
“Coming! Coming” Shouted the photographer, as he hurried over to the door. Without even looking through the peep hole, he unlocked the lock and pulled it open. Before him stood a young looking man. His dark hair was slicked back, he wore a stylish, yet very professional suit. In his arm was a clipboard, and behind him, a large box.  
“Takaba Akihito?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, as if in complete disbelief.  
The photographer nodded, “Yeah, I didn't order-”  
“It's a gift,” The young man said smugly, and held out the clipboard, a pen attached to the top, “Fourteen tailored, custom fit, single breasted suit....Armani, it-”  
“Armani!?” Shouted Takaba, feeling completely unworthy of such a gift.  
The man before him snorted, “Trust me, I felt the same way. However, they're yours. But i'm no one's delivery man, so after you sign, you can bring them in yourself,” After gaining a signature, the man turned around, and avoided the large box in his path, “Oh, and Asami-sama sends his regards”.

The man was out of his view before he could say anything. As a result, the photographer was left with a very large, _very_ expensive box. Whether this was a joke, or just pure consideration, Akihito hadn't a clue. Maybe it was Asami being a good person, if that was even possible. Perhaps he truly did feel terrible about his comment earlier, and had decided to buy Akihito one of the most expensive suit brands in the industry...maybe he was actually starting to appreciate the photographer’s presence a little bit more?  
Takaba dragged the large box into his house, and tore it open. Slowly, he took the expensive suits out of the box. They were neatly folded, glossy and beautiful. The fabric just beneath his fingers felt like gold, and for the strangest reason, he felt incredibly unworthy.  
This gift was incredibly expensive, and if the texture of the fabric didn't tell him that, then surely the brand name did. _I should just give these back...yeah..._ He thought to himself, nervously, _Yeah, I’ll just give them back._

But how would he even go about that? Would he march up to Asami's million dollar mansion (in reality, he had no idea how much Asami's home was, nor did he have any idea what it looked like), would he drag the box behind him to work, and demand that Asami take it back?  
Or would he just be polite, and put on one of the dang things? The latter seemed to be the best option. Afterward, he'd simply tell Asami that he didn't need him to buy clothing for him anymore, but that the consideration was touching.  
Yeah, that's what he'd do.  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He found his old teacher dissecting a heart in the old University lab. It made sense though, a lot of sense, as Mr. Ryuisuke was a heart surgeon. However, when he wasn't doing surgery, he was teaching classes, and on his free time, he usually read or dissected hearts.  
“Having fun?” Came Akihito, from behind the doctor.  
Ryuisuke spun around, and in his gloved hands, a scalpel and another sharp object that was covered in blood.  
“Akihito!” Happily greeted the older man, “It's been ages!”  
Takaba smiled, stepping back just a little as the professor moved with his uninstalls.  
“Not really, I saw you guys last month, remember,” reminded the photographer, “Just stopping by.”  
Ryuisuke nodded, and then noticed the satchel strap around the front of Takaba's body.  
“Writing again?” Ryuisuke indicated towards the satchel.  
“Oh, yeah,” Takaba smiled, “Just trying to find inspiration, that's all.”  
Ryuisuke nodded, and turned his back towards his student, “Dmitri told me. It's getting hard I suppose, huh?”  
Takaba nodded sadly, “Yeah, guess I’ll just have to try harder, huh?”  
“Yeah, just don't give up. Little things give you inspiration, and speaking of inspiration, I won't be here next week, I'm going on a trip.”

Takaba raised an eyebrow, and looked past his gray haired professors arm, and at the tiny heart, “Where and why?”  
“I-we're going on a cruise, Dmitri and I, but only to test the kinds of coral growing on the ship,” Responded Ruisuke, “We're seeing if it has a sort of connection with heart and brain failure.”  
Takaba rose an eyebrow, “Sounds fun-”  
“Anything but fun. We're being put in the lowest of the low kinds of rooms, plus, we're getting the leftovers to eat. No one wants to see scientist in the eating areas, let alone doctors. It makes people un easy,” explained Ryuisuke, “So no, it'll be anything but fun.”  
Takaba rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously, “Sorry about that!”  
“Don't be,” Ryuisuke's hazel eyes sparkled just slightly, “I haven't been out of Japan in a while.”  
There was silence as Takaba looked at his former professor skillfully poke and prod at the tiny heart. The light gray strands of hair fell into his face as his back arched, skilled eyes and hands directed their attention towards the vital organ. Though he looked young, Ryuisuke was much older than he appeared, and years of studying and concentration had gotten him where he was. Sometimes, if Akihito turned his head, if he looked at him at an angle, Ryuisuke looked a lot like Asami. Takaba had questioned him on the matter once before, but had found out that Ryuisuke had only two other siblings, and Asami wasn't one of them.  
“Well, work starts in an hour or so, so I'll see you...whenever I guess,” He left his professor with an open ended goodbye.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
The man that looked back at Takaba in the mirror, tall and clean cut, dark suited with strands of long hair gelled back didn't look like Akihito at all. His eyes were too blue, they stood out against his dark suit. The hair was too white, like some sort of lost, confused ice prince.  
The entire scenario was rather eerie. Looking back at him, his reflection seemed to mirror that of his father's tall build, and cold, calculating face.  
At least that's what he figured his biological father would have looked like. He didn't remember him much, nor did he remember his mother.  
He tugged at the collar, and straightened the cuffs for the umpteenth time. Sighing, he knelt down and grabbed his satchel. Next came his camera. Both were slung over his back, and he prepared to leave for work.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He walked there, to Club Sion, like he always did. Only this time, he didn't really look like his raggedy self. He didn't feel like his raggedy self either. The suit was starting to constrict him, or maybe it was his paranoia doing that. What he was paranoid of, he had no idea.  
Maybe he thought that someone would assume that he stole the suit, because before now, he'd always worn his torn, second hand clothing. Would they call the police on him, would he be dragged into a cop car and arrested? Would Asami stand up for him if he did get arrested?  
So many thoughts swam through his head as he walked closer to his work place. If it all went to shit tonight, then he'd defiantly quit and hope that the other employers he was interviewed by would contact him. Yes, that would be his “plan B”.

The line was now visible from his position on the sidewalk. He wasn't too late, so maybe Asami wouldn't mind him walking in through the entrance...but then he'd get stuck taking pictures of the members waiting to get inside. And if that happened, Mrs. Asami would surely be one of them. He felt a bit of bile rise in the back of his throat as he thought of that tattle-tailing skank. There was Suoh to consider as well, and his downpour of sarcastic remarks. Akihito didn't feel like them picking on him today, and he certainly didn't feel like being questioned about his clothing. That made entering from the back the more plausible option.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
He went swiftly from table to table, speaking to the different members, exchanging information and garnering very shocked and appalled replies when the occupants of Sion discovered that he was indeed the raggedy photographer. Many tables, full of older women whose faces were full of white makeup, and whose lips were as red as mars beckoned him over with a wave of their tiny wrists. He felt as if he was walking into a smoke stock with every table he arrived at.  
They complimented his looks, and tossed around a casual, “I've never seen you around here before” or a “ You look very familiar, have we met?”, and he would tell them yes, that he was the scrawny photographer that everyone loved to boss around.  
Though he avoided the last part as much as possible. Things were kicking up, and he'd gotten a lot of pictures, and a lot of attention, both good and bad. He could see members looking at him, some women blushing or looking away whenever he would cast his cold gaze on them, others didn't look too pleased. Especially the younger, more high maintenance looking men. Takaba laughed inside at them, they looked like dolls. He wondered if they'd ever done an ounce of physical labor in their lives. He looked around the club and wondered if he'd see Asami anywhere. He really wanted to talk to him, but had no intention of tearing the place apart to do so. If speaking to Asami meant waiting another few hours, or another few days, Takaba could do that. Besides, he still had no idea how he as going to go about this suit business. While deep in his thoughts, a beautiful and very talented actress managed to sneak up on him.  
“I'm looking for a photographer. He has very unkempt blond hair, and usually wears two sizes too large,” Came the smooth, female voice, “Oh Suit-sama, have you seen him?”  
The photographer spun around, and in seconds, was met with the bubbly appearance of his close friends. Ai Chan.  
“A-Ai Chan, what are you doing here?!” Asked Akihito, “I've never seen you here before.”  
“Oh please, I wouldn't come here if my father wasn't hosting a dinner party-hey, are you still writing?”  
That seemed like the question of the year, didn't it?  
“Yeah, kinda sorta, I’ve just got a hard time finding inspiration,” he revealed rather sadly, “I'm counting on photography to get me by now a days.”  
Ai Chan smiled, and grabbed Akihito by the wrist, “Then why not take pictures of me? For you, it's free, come on, we'll get a private room.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Tell me about your most recent “adventures”, they’ll be your only payment,” She offered, as she shut the door to the private room. It wasn't a big room at all. There was a mirror, a chair, and a bed. He took his seat in the chair, Ai Chan stood before the bed, preparing herself for the photo.  
Takaba looked down at his camera as he began to fiddle with the pieces, “Well, I met the thief again—or was he a king this time—well either way, I bumped into him-”  
“Boring, tell me one of your old ones, when you were like really into it,” instructed the woman, “Hurry, I haven't heard anything exciting all day.”  
Takaba didn't know if he should have been offended by her statement or not, but it was Ai Chan, she said things like that all the time.  
“Okay, well...there was a young pirate trapped—what the hell happened to your clothes?!” Akihito covered his eyes as his friends silk dress fell to the floor like a blue waterfall. She stood before him, hands on her hips, and head tilted.  
“You wanted pictures, right? And as my friend, you deserve the best quality, and besides, I don't mind nudes.”  
Takaba blushed, but after a stolen second of looking at her actual nakedness, he saw a sort of art about her figure. Suddenly, it wasn't all that embarrassing anymore.  
So he slowly began taking pictures. He asked her to pose, of course modestly, and asked her whether she was comfortable or not. Occasionally, he slipped in scenarios from his imagination, and even placed her charterer, a fairy, within some of the tales. She was ecstatic all the way through.  
“Hey, hey! I've got a story for you,” she said, as she slipped back into her garments, “ _And_ it involves Mr. Asami!”  
Takaba raised an eyebrow, “What is it?”  
Ai Chan bounced on the bed with an ear to ear smile, “He's caught in an affair with an engaged man!”  
“Ai Chan! Don't say such things! Mr. Asami is married, and-”  
“It means nothing to him! Mrs. Asami's always sucking someone off, they don't even love each other. But that's not the point! The point is that the sorry idiot he's cheating on is none other then Lui Fei Long!”  
Takaba ran a hand through his hair, placed his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, “Is that some sort of food?”  
“No you clutz! It's only one of the most beautiful, elegant men in the celebrity world! Even the women are jealous of him! But that's not all!”  
“Okay, so we have a womanly looking man who has girls jealous of him, he's engaged and is having an affair with Asami, whose married?” Akihito checked. Ai Chan sat up an nodded, then fell back, her head crashing into the pillow.  
“Yeah, yeah, but that's not even the best part!”  
“Well...do tell,” Takaba inclined.  
“Will do! The person he's engaged to is none other then the gorgeous Mikhail Arbotov! And-”  
“Who the hell is Mikhail?”  
Ai Chan sat up again, “Only the most gorgeous man whose walked the earth! “  
“I thought that was Fei-”  
“He's elegant, not gorgeous, either way, they're both engaged, Asami's banging Fei Long and they're all getting on a boat together, like a cruise! It's for the businessman, the influential businessman. They fit the category, not to mention, there's supposed to be a huge meeting between all of them! But mostly, it's just a vacation, a get away for them and a lot of others. But I bet you they'll be drama!”  
Takaba looked down sadly, and a small smile was etched onto his lips, “Sound interesting.”  
Ai Chan smiled, “But do you know what's the most interesting, most exciting part about the whole thing is?”  
Takaba looked up, “What?”  
“I got you a ticket!”  
Takaba squinted his eyes, his mouth slightly agape, “You did what?”  
“I got you a ticket Aki! So you can go and get the scoop! Imagine the ideas you could get from these people! It's scandal with a cherry on top!”  
Takaba thought about it for a slight second. Ai Chan was correct, indeed, there was so much he could do with the story she was telling him. He could merge it with his vast imagination, make it a tale of old, make it a tale of adventure. Or he could keep it original, a splash of the sick reality that these people lived in. But then he would have to find a way to spy on Asami without being caught. Not to mention, this Fei Long person, and this Mikhail person. It seemed like too much for too little. And besides, what right did he have to delve into Asami's personal business, he didn't even know him that well.  
“Ai Chan...thanks a lot, but I don't know, it's really risky, and they'll see me on the boat anyway,” said the photographer.  
“NO they won't, I got the ticked from someone less fortunate than I, you're getting the bottom deck with your kinds of people! All you have to do Is sneak up where the rich people are and then you can spy on them, your so little and bland that mixing in the elite crowd won't raise any sort of attention! Trust me, it'll work. You can disguise yourself as a crew member or something like that!” She spoke happily.  
Takaba, once again, tried not to be offended by her choice of words, and reminded himself that she most likely had no idea that she'd just seriously hurt his feelings. Breathing in slowly, he allowed his anger to flutter away with his exhale.  
“You're doing that breathing thing again Aki! Anyway, I can have the ticket in your mail box by tonight! The ship sets sail next week, so what do you say?” She squealed, “Come on! You're always working, you deserve to get something good out of it for once!”  
Takaba bit his lip, weighing the options. Even if he got the ticket, he didn't necessarily have to go, and it didn't hurt to have it just in case he wanted to.  
“Yeah sure, have it mailed over tonight.”  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He thanked God that he had the agility to deal with these people . He'd been busier than usual, and he supposed that some of the credit went to his clothing. He no longer looked like a “nobody”, as Ai Chan and himself has usually put it, he actually looked like a “somebody”, and was being treated like a “somebody”.  
But he hardly felt like his usual self. Forced smiles and fake laughter started to agitate the face after a while. Thee elegance was no longer elegant if not practiced to perfection, and the mask started to crack after a few hours.  
If being wealthy meant being _this_ then Akihito had no qualms living out his life as the raggedy photographer.  
With these thoughts in mind, his urge to find Asami had intensified like nothing he'd ever felt before. The suit started to feel heavier than the gray paint that pealed off of his walls, it started to smell worse than the smoke that had consumed the oxygen, it-  
A clawed hand dug into the tender muscles of his shoulder, and spun him around with a iron force. Long red nails nearly tore into his jacket, and the people sitting on the sofas and at the tables stopped their conversations and cast the duo an awkward glance.  
Before him stood a very enraged, very deranged looking Mrs. Asami. _Make her troll instead,_ he reminded himself, however, the thought was replaced with a raw stinging sensation on the side of his face.  
It hadn’t registered to him until seconds later that he had been slapped, and that the pain was excruciating.  
He had no idea what to say, so shakily, two words pried themselves out of his mouth, “M-mrs. Asami...?”  
“You whore!” She screeched, and at the same time, the strong scent of alcohol rolled off of her breath, “ _He_ bought you these suits, didn't he!”  
Takaba was at a loss of words. How did wearing suites make him a whore? Was It that terrible that Asami had acted out of the kindness of his heart? Was it that bad to see Takaba in a suit.  
He moved to the side as she lunged another wobbly hand at him, and fought the urge to grab at her wrist.  
“Mrs. Asami,” he spoke, as he quickly moved his head to the side, “I don't under-”  
“You're sucking him off behind my back aren't you! Is that why he's buying you a thousand dollar suits! You little slut!”  
She was a drunk, a very dangerous drunk. And somehow, she had been terrible misinformed.  
“Mrs. Asami! He just talked to-” Another slap, and now a clump of his blond hair was being twisted in her hands. He bit back a shout, he bit back a fist as his nails punctured the skin on his palms. His father had instructed him to never, ever hit a girl, no matter the circumstances. So he grabbed at her wrist this time, and pulled her hand out of his hair. It tore the strands from his scalp.  
The onlookers looked rather amused, and some bore smiles behind their fans and drinks. These weren't normal people! Normal people didn't just sit and watch some man get beat to a pulp by some insane woman.  
“Mrs. Asami, I assure you that I never once slept with your husband, you're just drunk! He just talked to me, that's-”  
A burning agony flared within his cheek, and slowly, a warm, liquid substance oozed out of three vertical scratch marks that had been torn onto the surface of his skin. Grabbing at his cheek, Takaba stepped back as hot tears threatened to spill over. Her red nails were darker than before, and now she sported a look so ugly, and so smug, that it made Takaba's stomach churn harder than it had when he had discovered that his parents were dead.

Suddenly, he felt like he was back in his tiny apartment, but this time it was smaller, so much smaller. The walls were closing in on him and tumbling down, the air was being sucked from his lungs, the pressure was crushing him! He was dying alone, he was dying a failure, he was-  
“Akihito!” Asami was behind him, his hand on his shoulder, grabbing at him, preventing him from leaving. With his bloodied hand still glued to his face, the photographer looked around him. He was outside. It was hot, but the sun was already set. It can't have been passed eight p.m.  
“Get your hand off of my shoulder! I quit!” Shouted the photographer with an agonizing tone, “You two planned that, didn't you!”  
“Akihi-”  
“Don't you call me Akihito you bastard! You don't even know me!”  
“ _Takaba_ , you're taking this too seriously, you're just-”  
Takaba turned around before Asami could even finish. Taking it too seriously? Was Asami _serious?_ Just before he broke out into a sprint, Asami's hand grabbed Akihito's wrist, and just as his wife had done minutes ago, the older man spun him around, and forced the photographer to look into his eyes.  
“Don't be such a child, _Akihito._ You know none of these people here, their opinion opinion about you shouldn't matter, yet your esteem is so low that you continue to let the smallest things get to you. You're not weak, Akihito...”  
Takaba was too angry to understand what Asami meant, he was too angry to determine whether Asami was teasing him or not, he was too angry to stand in the man's presence for another minute.  
“Just-”  
Asami threw Takaba's wrist out of his grasps before he got the change to finish his snide remark, “Or maybe I am wrong,” spoke the older man, “Maybe...you're not worth my time. And maybe, perhaps, you shouldn't come back.”  
What paved way for Asami's complete 180, Akihito hadn't a clue. He was compassionate mere seconds ago, and now this. What the hell was this, some sort of made house?  
Takaba's eyes had already spilled over by the time Asami turned around and left him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
 _I noticed that you left it at Sion when you left. Sorry about what happened to you.  
-Ai Chan_

The next morning saw a bandaged up Akihito looking at his satchel that Ai Chan had managed to bring by last night, and at the same time, the Cruise ticket that could possibly change his life, and that of so many others. The scandal seemed like heaven, and it would be the perfect leverage to get back at Asami.  
But Akihto wasn't that kind of person, he wasn't the kind of person to ruin someone out of spite or anger. At least not yet, he wasn't.  
And if it became a play, this abundance of cheating and affairs, then what was the possibility of the inspiration meeting the product?  
And on a further stretch, how much would this all cost? His family was in debt, he had no intention of funding a play and gaining little to nothing for it. Not to mention, he would most likely need to have the scratch mark on his face checked out by a doctor! He didn't have that kind of money.

But Ai Chan was right, this was what the people wanted, if he wrote about scandal, if he wrote about sex, and pain and suffering, if he wrote about _life,_ then maybe he could get somewhere! Granted, it wasn't what he liked at all, but with this idea, with this plot, he could get somewhere. He could pay off his family's debt!   
Sighing, he stood up and looked at his dirty apartment. Did he even have a proper suitcase?  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? I would appriciate it if you left a comment please!  
> Anyway, LIke i've said before, i'm losing inspiration, but I love writing for you guys. SO thank you! Again, tell me what you think, have a wonderful week, and God bless!


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